


Crossing the Barrier

by Keesha



Series: Fireside Chats [2]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-28
Updated: 2017-02-28
Packaged: 2018-09-27 09:20:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9996881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Keesha/pseuds/Keesha
Summary: An entry for the February Fete des Mousquetaires challenge 'Retrospection'. Also, an addition to the Fireside chat series. Athos examines an event of his past.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is a melancholy addition to my fireside chats seires. I had no intention of writing anything this month for the Fête des Mousquetaires challenge, but then something occurred. I’ll explain more at the end, but for now, I will let the story speak for itself. Warning, this is a sad story. Thanks to my beta MC for a super quick turnaround.

_The shovel had been placed back where it belonged and he stood in the opening of the barn door gazing at the sky. The terrible storm, with its booming thunder and blinding lightning had passed, leaving behind the plunking sound of rain dripping off the eaves onto the muddy ground. Shifting his eyes, he suddenly spotted an incredibly bright double rainbow etched against the sullen, yet sunlit, grey sky._

_Once again, tears welled up in his sorrowful green eyes as the wretched memories of the day pushed their way back into the forefront of his_ _thoughts_ _. He kept trying to banish them to the locked box in his mind, where he stored all his other painful moments, but they were too fresh, too new, to stay obediently sealed away._

_Thirteen and a half years was a long time, enough time to share many hopes, dreams, desires and disappointments. A long time to bask in the unconditional love. To be gazed at by those adoring brown eyes and know you could never do anything that would jeopardize that unwavering devotion._

_He felt more tears trickling down his face and he mopped his sweat stained sleeve across his red-rimmed, moist eyes. His gaze drifted over to the mansion, where_ _,_ _he knew_ _,_ _the staff and his parents were carrying on with their lives. Thomas was away at an academy in Paris for a few months. A letter would have to be sent because he didn’t think it would be proper to wait until his_ _brother's_ _return to share the news. She was not his, of course, her undying loyalty always lay with him, but that didn’t mean she and Thomas weren’t friends. Just not best friends._

_A few of the household staff would be sad at her passing he supposed_ _,_ _as she had been a fixture on the estate_ _practically_ _since her birth. But the servants would remain quiet, and_ _respectfully_ _in the background_ _,_ _as they always did; that was their lot in life. Plus, he knew his father would not appreciate any sign of hysterics, from his domestics or his own flesh and blood. Decorum, a stone-faced façade_ _,_ _was expected of a de la Fère._

_That was partially the reason he was still outside, in the barn. He had_ _lovingly_ _buried her hours ago, but he couldn’t face going inside yet and_ _possibly_ _encountering his father. His emotions were still too raw and close to the surface. The stoic mask he kept trying to hold in place would unexpectedly slip away, exposing his grief to the outside world. The last thing he needed was to breakdown in front of his father, who_ _was already keenly_ _disappointed_ _in his heir. A de la Fère was expected to remain stoic in public. Always._

 _And, he thought as he mopped his sleeve once again across his treacherous eyes, had he not stayed outside, he would have missed the beautiful twin rainbows that_ _arched_ _across the sky.  Allowing himself to be sentimental, an emotion people usually didn’t think he_ _had in_ _him, he declared it her rainbows, a fitting tribute honoring her death. A memorial. Something to remind him of the great times they had had together._

 _He let_ _out a big sigh as he watched the sky lighten and the rainbows slowly fade away. He kept telling himself over and over that she had lived a good, long life.  Thirteen and a_ _half years was a long time for a large poodle.  A blessing really. He really shouldn’t feel sorrow for she had had_ _a rich, full life. If he were to be brutally honest, he wasn’t sorry for her sake.  He was sorry for_ _himself, being left alone._

 _He had been privileged to live with her each and every one of those thirteen and a_ _half years, from when she was a goofy puppy to her still goofy senior days.  Less than two weeks ago, he had caught her trying to chase her tail, and it had made him laugh out loud, something very few things could do these days. The tension between him_ _and his father seemed to be never ending and that day they had argued, once again, over his future. So, when he had stormed up to his room and found her chasing her tail as if she was a puppy, it had made him laugh.  Granted, given her age and failing health, she only went around three times before needing to stop and rest, but it had been long enough to lift his mood.  She stopped, panted for a moment, then valiantly hopped into one of the padded chairs in his room where she arranged her long limbs under her and gave him one of her doggy grins. There always seemed to be a sparkle in her dark brown eyes, as if she was just waiting to celebrate whatever came next in life. Even though she was a dog, he swore she had a sense of humor. Another sigh escaped his lips. She might be gone, but he would always have his memories;_ _nothing_ _, except time, could take them away._

It was a mild spring night, one where camping out in the woods, as long as there was a fire, wasn’t that taxing. The daylight hours had been delightful, unseasonably warm and full of sunshine. The King and his guests had enjoyed their duck hunting along the beautiful Marne River immensely.  The hunt-master had brought along a number of the royal poodles who were natural water retrievers. The large poodles, sporting their functional yet funny looking haircuts, plunged into the river Marne with great enthusiasm every time there was a fowl to fetch.  Their shaved faces allowed them easily to spot their targets while the colorful ribbon tying up their top knot allowed the hunt-master to track his poodles in the water.  The hunting party and the musketeers  guard alike enjoyed watching the regal, yet fun-loving dogs perform their duties.

It was Captain Treville who had been not been thrilled that the King had wanted to go hunting so far from the palace.  A simple day trip to the Seine had been Treville’s recommendation, but Louis had whined he wanted to get away from the drudgery of being a King and that an overnight hunting trip was exactly what was required. The Captain had tried to reason with his Majesty, explaining that rumors of unrest in the countryside had been reaching his ears, but the King would not budge from his position. In fact, he had told Treville this was the perfect opportunity for the musketeers to learn the truth of these speculations.  The musketeers could look for nefarious doings while escorting him on the hunt; two birds, one stone. The fact that if there were nefarious doings then that it was the last place the King of France should be was lost on Louis. When it was obvious no amount of logic or pleading was going to change the King’s position on his hunt, Treville had acquiesced and left to make plans on how to keep the monarch safe.

And that was why Athos and Aramis found themselves, slightly damp, camping on the far side of the Marne River from the King, his hunting companions, and the rest of the musketeers. In order to ensure no one could sneak up on the encampment, Treville had posted teams of two musketeers on the outskirts of the camp as watchmen on all points of the compass. Not wanting anyone to sneak across the Marne and flank them, Treville had asked for two volunteers to keep watch on the far side of the river. As there was no bridge to cross the Marne nearby, the watchmen would need to swim their mounts across the river, which met getting wet. Athos immediately offered to go, thereby practically forcing one of the other Inseparables to accompany him. Porthos, d’Artagnan and Aramis first glared at Athos for volunteering, then warily eyed each other to see who would accompany the swordsman. However, the decision was taken out of their hands when Treville declared Aramis would accompany Athos. Aramis had been about to argue the point, but the stern look from his Captain had him swallowing his words and nodding in agreement.

The two musketeers had swum across the river on their horses, the lower half of their bodies getting soaked. Athos had seemed very eager to get away from the main camp and was even more quiet and withdrawn than usual as they had set up their campsite. Eventually, they had things to their liking and settled around the cheerful fire Athos had built.

“Athos?” Aramis asked gently, as he studied his friend’s face in the firelight noting the lone tear that was winding its way down the swordsman’s face. “You seem especially withdrawn and sad this evening, my friend.”

Self-consciously, Athos reached up and wiped the tattletale drop of water from his face. “Sorry,” he muttered as he shifted his gaze from the fire, to his damp, booted feet which were stretched out near its warmth as he lay, propped up against his saddle, on his bedroll.  

Compassionately, Aramis reached over and placed his hand on Athos’ shoulder. “You have nothing to be sorry about.  Would you care to share what is making you sad? I’m a good listener.”

Scuffing the toes of his boots against each other, Athos remained silent, the only noise on this mild spring night was the crackling of the fire and a few early crickets. As the silence lengthened, Aramis gave up any hope that Athos would share his distress with him. He gave Athos a light pat on the shoulder before removing his hand, deciding it was a lost cause.

Then softly, Athos began to speak. “I have no desire to suffer twice, in reality and then in retrospect. Yet, that is exactly what I’m doing tonight” Athos declared as he looked away from his boots back to the fire.

“Twice? You, my friend, allow yourself to suffer for a lifetime,” Aramis stated emphatically. “But tonight, your suffering feels different. As if it is both painful and yet somehow comforting.”

Aramis’ insight made Athos shift his gaze to study his brother’s face in the firelight. “Your perception is uncanny, if not a bit scary. Have I become that much of an open book to you?”

That made the marksman laugh out loud. “You? An open book? I don’t think I want to live to see that day. Talk about scary."

The faintest hint of a smile drifted across Athos’ features as he settled deeper against his saddle, fixing his gaze back on the fire once more.  “Those poodles. The ones on the hunt today. They reminded me of my past.”

“Poodles. If I recall, you mentioned you had one growing up, when we were on those true love quests for the King.”

“Your memory serves you well,” Athos acknowledged. “Old memories, dredged up from the past struck me tonight.”  He had to clear his throat before he could go on. “I got her when she was a puppy. From a hunt-master who bred poodles.  She was the smallest of the litter, though as an adult her head still came above my knee. A Marquis who was a great friend of my father, held a huge celebration in honor of his son and heir’s birth. The Marquis was a great devotee of hunting, so my father decided to get him a male and female poodle to add to his kennel.  My father contacted a hunt-master who had a well-established breeding kennel, to purchase two of his best stock.  The hunt-master, who lived by the coast, agreed to deliver the two poodles to our estate, as he had other clients along the way.”

Athos shifted into a slightly more comfortable position before continuing. “The hunt-master arrived at our house with a most magnificent, regal, black male poodle and an equally splendid white female. As he was presenting these majestic dogs to my father, a small black ball of fluff shot out of the back of his wagon, a chewed-through rope trailing from its neck. This small black projectile half ran, half tumbled across the dirt and landed in a pile of furry limbs at my feet. I can still remember reaching down and scooping her up off the ground. She was so small and light, yet this enormous pink tongue emerged from her mouth and proceeded to scrub my face clean.”

Aramis’ heart was warmed by the wistful smile on Athos’ face as he described the remembered scene.

“The hunt-master was not amused and he strode across the courtyard and plucked the cheeky pup from my arms, all the while profusely apologizing and assuring my father this was in no way representative of his breeding stock. Runt of the litter, he explained. His last customer had taken all her brothers and sisters, but declined to keep her. All the while he was speaking, the black mat of fur struggled and eventually she wiggled her face to where she could see the world once more.”

And another wistful smile appeared on Athos’ face. “And to this day I don’t know why, but when the hunt-master offered her to my father for free, saying he didn’t want to drag her back to the coast, my father agreed. Next thing I knew I had the small black bundle of fur deposited in my arms again. And that, Aramis, was the beginning of thirteen and a half years of a beautiful friendship.”

The warmth and happiness shining on Athos’ face was something Aramis wished he could capture forever.  This is what Athos deserved to be like all the time.  Happy.

“We had a great life together.  There is nothing as wonderful as having a friend who unconditionally loves you no matter how stupid you are at times. I could do something utterly dumb and those brown eyes would always forgive me, with her furiously wagging tail and her incredibly wet pink tongue. That poodle was the best natured animal I have ever known.  She liked everyone she met and if you’d deign to pet her, she’d stand there until your hand fell off. But in the end, she was first and foremost my dog, always returning to my side. My mother said she liked everyone, but loved me. My first love, and probably the only one who never betrayed me.”

The smile faded from Athos face and his usual stoic mask fell back into place. “She died, after living a good and long life. I should have no regrets really.”

“It is never easy to lose anything you care about, even if they have had the best of all possible lives.  Death is a barrier that only memories can cross. Don’t be ashamed to reminisce about the happy times, or the sad ones either. I’ll never judge you, my brother, but rather rejoice at the happy times and mourn the sad ones with you.”

Athos nodded as he got lost in the past once more, thinking of all the great times he and his poodle had had together. “Maybe…someday,” he finally said slowly as he cleared a frog from his throat, “I’ll tell you of her exploits. But for now, I think I have had all the retrospection I can endure for one night.” 

Aramis nodded in understanding, letting the conversation naturally peter out. He hoped his listening had offered a measure of comfort to his brother and given him a safe haven to expound upon the grief he still felt.

THE END

**Author's Note:**

> Today was an incredibly sad day. I had to put my thirteen-and-a-half-year-old standard poodle to sleep. We knew, going to the vet, it was probably a one-way trip and that it was the merciful and right thing to do. But that didn’t make it any easier, of course. When I got home the silence seemed deafening. I kept expecting her to poke her long nose around the corner to seek me out. I had hinted in a previous story that Athos had a poodle as a child. So, I’m using this story as a distraction from the silence as well as an outlet for my sorrow and a small celebration of her life. And as in the story, after we came home from the vet, there was a terrible storm followed by two bright, beautiful, end to end rainbows that I could see from my front porch. Those rainbows, against that sullen grey sky, will always be her memorial to me.


End file.
